Rise to Power
by Biker Babe21
Summary: The life of King Vejiita as told through his eyes. This is the prequel to Life of a Prince, but can be read on its lonesome. Rated for language and later very harsh abuse.


**Rise to Power**

**Chapter 1****: Tradition and Protocol**

**AN****: **This is essentially the prequel to my other story, **Life of a Prince**. This story will tell the untold of troubles of a certain Saiyan king. There will be others in this series, and yes, it is a series. There will be another that takes place after **Life of a Prince** and at least two that take place before this one. I know that it may be a bit confusing, but it will become clearer as time goes on. Why am I going out of my way to create this many? It's all part of a massive series detailing the ancient bloodline that Vegeta hails from.

By the way, DBZ and its characters are not mine. Most of the people in the prequels are my own characters derived from a mish-mosh of places.

**Rise to Power**

**Chapter 1****: Tradition and Protocol**

The sun peaks its head out from underneath the cover of rugged rocky peaks that rise several thousands of feet into the rose-colored sky at their lowest points and form a line across the whole horizon. The rising sun casts its serene glow on the huts of straw, stick, and stone that lie peacefully in the valley. A scream echoes against the stone walls of a hut at nearly the center of the crater-like valley.

Inside this hut, a woman of only sixteen lies prone on a small bed of straw that lies on the floor. She screams in agony. A man of nearly fifty towers over her in an arrogant posture of hate. She glares daggers at the man before her, hoping against hope to kill him with just her eyes.

'How dare that smug little asshole just stand there like that when he knows the torment he's put me through! I hope that he gets his someday and soon!' she thinks as she stares at the man she hates with all her being. All around her stand men, women, and children, all of which being friends or relatives of his. They all stare at the woman's beauty with awe, but they dismiss her suffering as just a simple fact of life that they needn't question.

"You're almost there. Just another good push and it'll all be over," the young nursemaid kneeling beside her coaxes. She has long unkempt locks of chestnut and pale green eyes. A bushy tail of the same chestnut color sits at rest next to her. Her two dog-like ears of chestnut sit on her head in a lazy fashion, as if she were only putting half her normal effort into her work. On the other side of the beautiful woman, another woman with the same chestnut colored hair, ears and tail sits. Her hair is pulled back into a loose ponytail, but even so, her hair still reaches her upper back. The two women are experienced nursemaids and midwives, but each of them has their own strength and preference. The first of the two, Rui, prefers her duties as a nursemaid and is far better at it than her sister. Rui's elder sister, Maydryd, has a speech impediment that doesn't allow her to perform the nursemaid duties that she would like to, but she doesn't allow this to get her down. She is much better at being a midwife anyway. Rui watches and tries to calm the mother down as Maydryd performs her duties as a midwife.

A long scream emates from the small frame of the mother to be. The scream of pain lasts for only a minute or two, but to the poor mother it seems to last for an eternity. With that final scream, all of her remaining strength is zapped. The high-pitched wails of her child cut through the air. Rui and Maydryd take the child and begin cleaning the newborn off. The new mother heaves a great sigh as she relaxes into her bed of straw. She gazes at her newborn and reaches her weak arm toward the baby.

"Rui, let me gaze into my baby's eyes," the mother pleads. Rui sadly glances at her before handing the child to the nearly fifty year old with a slight bow.

"Your son, Governor," she says.

"You know how to tell that that boy will grow to become a mighty warrior, my son?" a nearly 120 year old man asks.

"How?" the fifty year old with brown flame-like hair asks.

"Simple," his father says as if its obvious. He waves his hand carelessly.

"You just pick him up by his tail and see how long he cries for. The less time he cries, the stronger he'll become," the old warrior says. His face is nothing but a mess of wrinkles, sags, and moles. His long silver beard and flame-like hair are only just beginning to turn white at the edges. His tail is a pale brown yet it too has begun to give into the sands of time. The tail is droopy and has several wild twigs and strands of fur out of place. The tail is so pathetic that it looks like it should either be dead or close to it. He is well over 100 years old, but he only looks to be about 60. This Saiyan's son is nearly half his father's age, but he is only two years shy of that magic number. This man looks thoughtfully at his outstretched son.

"Know what I done did to my boys?" one of the fifty year old's friends asks. This man has wild black locks that reach down to his upper back. He doesn't have any facial hair to be seen.

"What, Kunga?" he replies.

"Tooked em to the drop off. Dropped 'em and seed if dey'd come back. Worked wonders for 'em. Sawed who was strong and made 'em stronger at same time," Kunga drawls. His friend looks thoughtfully at his son again.

"Maybe I should," he says in a daze.

"It'll do load 'o good fore you 'n 'im," Kunga states confidently. Nodding, his friend finally decides on his course of action. Rui waits patiently, knowing well of the man's temper, strength, and aggressiveness all of which are far greater than his own. Suddenly, he snatches the delicate newborn by the tail and holds him before himself upside down. Rui squeaks as the child is violently torn from her arms. The poor defenseless child does not wail, but silently leaves a trail of hot tears down his face.

"He's gonna be one strong kid," his father begins to say. The child's face begins to contort in pain. His mother silently weeps into her hands.

"Give him back to me!" the mother cries out as she grabs hold of the fifty year old's leg. He shakes her off and stomps on her hands. She whimpers as she backs away, clutching her hand. She gazes at her child, longing to help her injured child.

"Well, look like 'e's a failure," Kunga says.

"It's really too bad. He was doing so well too," the child's grandfather woefully states. The child sniffles miserably.

"Well, looks like he's not an entire failure," the father says. The mother begins to cheer at hearing this. In his excitement, he squeezes harder. The child's tears come fast and furious. The mother stares on in disbelief. Tears stream down her face. The child wails at the top of his lungs.

"Hmph. So much for that," the father says as he tosses his son to the side. Rui barely is able to catch the boy as he falls.

"Give him to the wench," the father says as he turns to leave. His father and Kunga both laugh as they leave the room. Rui gently places the child in the arms of his mother, having heard rumors of her weak form. The eager mother snuggles with her little boy.

"My little boy, I've no doubt that you'll be strong like your father, possibly even stronger. I'm so happy that you're alright. I've no doubt that you'll forever hate him, and I don't blame you. He's been such a jerk ever since he told me that he wanted me. I don't know how I could ever have fallen for that jerk. You're his son. You'll no doubt have to endure the brunt of his wrath." the happy mother says. The mother cuddles her boy more. Tears run down her face as she thinks about the horrors her son might have to endure at the hands of her mate.

"I think that I will name you Vejiita after your father. I know that father wouldn't approve of me naming you especially not after the noble name of his clan. He is a traditionalist. He will want to test you before giving you a name. If you do well and surpass your brothers and sisters, he will voluntarily give you the name of his noble clan. I have no doubt that you'll be able to do just that, but I have a bad premonition that something horrible will happen," she tells the child. The child blinks at his mother. The mother smiles at her son.

"Life's not fair nor is it kind, especially to women. If you remember nothing else, remember this, my dear Vejiita, never give up on your dreams. I know that you're made for greatness. You need only strive to reach this greatness to achieve it," she says. She sighs as she sinks back into her bed of straw, taking her son with her. Her eyes blink several times before sleep finally claims her. A tiny yawn is carried through the air as the newborn is whisked off to dreamland with his mother.


End file.
